each side and a long Bowie knife, that had been presented to us by
William Wood, of Columbia, Tenn. We got in and on top of the box cars,
the whistle sounded, and amid the waving of hats, handkerchiefs and flags,
we bid a long farewell and forever to old Camp Cheatham.

Arriving at Nashville, the citizens turned out _en masse_ to receive us,
and here again we were reminded of the good old times and the "gal we
left behind us." Ah, it is worth soldiering to receive such welcomes as
this.

The Rev. Mr. Elliott invited us to his college grove, where had been
prepared enough of the good things of earth to gratify the tastes of the
most fastidious epicure. And what was most novel, we were waited on by
the most beautiful young ladies (pupils of his school). It was charming,
I tell you. Rev. C. D. Elliott was our Brigade Chaplain all through the
war, and Dr. C. T. Quintard the Chaplain of the First Tennessee Regiment--
two of the best men who ever lived. (Quintard is the present Bishop of
Tennessee).


ON THE ROAD

Leaving Nashville, we went bowling along twenty or thirty miles an hour,
as fast as steam could carry us. At every town and station citizens and
ladies were waving their handkerchiefs and hurrahing for Jeff Davis and
the Southern Confederacy. Magnificent banquets were prepared for us all
along the entire route. It was one magnificent festival from one end of
the line to the other. At Chattanooga, Knoxville, Bristol, Farmville,
Lynchburg, everywhere, the same demonstrations of joy and welcome greeted
us. Ah, those were glorious times; and you, reader, see why the old